Language Lessons
by AgentAshor
Summary: When Torian Cadera insists upon teaching a bounty hunter Mando'a, she realizes there's more going on than just another balac (opportunity). Rated T for one bad word and some violence.
1. Chapter 1

We're celebrating.

Not sure if it's because we've succeeded in killing one of the Blacklist's most elusive bounties, we've recruited a new crew member, or if it's just because it's Primeday. Does it matter? For whatever reason, we've gathered in Gault's makeshift bar aboard the _Mantis_ and he's kept the drinks coming.

During his first week aboard, Gault complained about everything: the drab walls, the lack of furniture, the poor lighting. I finally told him to do something about it or shut up. The very next day he started moving old crates around. He brought in furniture, fixtures, mirrors. He even found an old jukebox. Mako and I watched in interest from the doorway. He was on a mission.

Didn't stop him from complaining about his lack of help.

By the end of the week, he'd set up a bar and even stocked it with drinks. Our ship became some kind of Hutt pleasure barge overnight.

Mako and I jokingly call it the "Star Bar." Gault scoffs everytime we say it. I'm sure he had something else in mind, but we found it fitting. The name stuck. He hasn't charged us to drink there yet, so I assume we're still on his good side.

Gault and I spend a lot of down-time at his bar. He stands behind the counter and I sit opposite him. We talk, mostly about his past heists and my past bounties. He was one of my bounties, once. Sometimes it's unreal to be talking to him when he should have met the end of my blaster.

He makes plans for future heists. I half-listen. He calls me on it. The next night, we repeat. It's always the same thing. But he's funny, clever, and observant and I find that he's quite likeable, even if he's an untrustworthy scoundrel.

Tonight he's watching Mako and Torian with interest, leaning on the counter with his elbow, a drink in the other hand. "What to hear something juicy?"

"Nope," I say, picking up a shot glass and swallowing its contents with one gulp.

Gault shrugs. He takes a sip of his drink and says, "Too bad. It's about you, Champ."

He's taken to calling me "Champ." It's a ridiculous nickname, but a deserving one, I guess. I haven't decided if I like it or not. I don't think I do.

"Is it?" I ask, feigning disinterest. I hope it works. It's hard to pull a fast one on Gault. Besides, when he's got something on his mind it's often better to play along than to ignore him.

"Ah, now I've piqued your interest!"

Then he says nothing.

I roll my eyes and shake my head. "Gonna leave me hanging, huh, Gault?"

"The kid."

"What about him?"

"He's been staring at you all night. And I'll bet the feelings he has for you are more than mutual."

I snort and resist the urge to turn around. But I do sit up a bit straighter and I'm sure Gault notices. He's making fun of me, I just know it. _Bastard._

"I'm not interested in Torian, Gault."

He sighs. "Suit yourself." He moves the topic of conversation to his new scheme. Something about salt.

I'm only half-listening to him again. My thoughts shift to Torian and those striking blue eyes of his. He doesn't say much, but I know he listens by the intensity of his gaze. I suppose if I'd been scorned by the people who were supposed to be closest to me I'd say little, too.

He's also way too young for me.

Still, I'm curious. I want to know if Gault's right, but I won't turn around. I'll get an earful from Gault and I don't want Torian to know we're talking about him.

Raising my eyes to the wall, I glance into the mirror behind Gault and see Mako and Torian sitting at the table across the room.

Mako usually wears her hair up, but tonight it's down. She's animated, grinning from ear to ear, talking to Torian. I can't hear what she's saying, but it's probably something about her family. Or Braden. Both favorite topics of hers.

Gault's right. Torian's clear blue eyes are watching me.

And she's oblivious. Or ignorant. Or hopeful.

Gault gives me a smug smile. "Told you."

"So what?" I quickly look down and refill my drink. "He's looking at me. Or the bar. Or you. Doesn't mean a thing."

"Mako's taking a shine to the kid, too. Hmm. Things could get pretty interesting around here…" Gault lifts his glass in a toast. I shake my head and tip back another drink.


	2. Chapter 2

I decide to test Gault's theory.

I spend some extra time training.

I'm over an hour late and there are things to do. By no, no one should be at breakfast. I don't bother to change.

I'm confident when I walk into the galley and stop short when I see him.

Torian's there, seated at the table. His tousled hair falls in those clear blue eyes of his. He looks utterly adorable. I feel my cheeks redden.

"Morning," I say, hoping the surprise in my head doesn't make it out of my mouth. I beeline to the large pot of lukewarm porridge the droid made and start ladling it into a bowl. _What the hell is he doing here? Shouldn't he be on a mission or training or whatever it is Mandalorians do?_

"Morning," he responds. "I need to talk to you."

When I join him at the table, he's still looking at me intently. I find his gaze uncomfortable because I'm not sure what he'll say. The uncertainty makes me wary.

"So talk."

"I'd like to teach you Mando'a."

This is a surprise. I nearly choke on my bite of porridge. "No, thank you."

He's put-off by my decline. He tries again. "You'll be a better bounty hunter if you do. More respect."

I open my mouth to protest, but reconsider. I'm a damn good bounty hunter, but despite Mandalore's faith in me, I'm no Mando. It's a point other Mandalorians often remind me of. Learning Mando'a would be a good way to cultivate respect I wouldn't get otherwise.

Reluctantly, I agree.

The next morning I find myself opposite Torian at the Star Bar. He's spitting out Mandalorian sentences like rapid-fire and I'm struggling to catch anything familiar. When he's through talking, he looks at me expectantly.

The only thing I managed to get out of his monologue is " _su cuy'gar_ " which means "hello" or something. I think. I'm not sure, but I've heard Mandalorians say it in greeting on multiple occasions.

 _Shit,_ I think. _What have I gotten myself into?_

"Su cuy'gar," I respond, tripping over the words a little.

Torian smiles. And I smile back.


	3. Chapter 3

"Your Mando'a is getting better," Gault comments one evening, weeks later. "You don't sound like you're speaking in the middle of a sandstorm anymore."

"Vor'e," I say and slide my glass to him. "Ni copaani buy'ce gal."

He gives me a sideways smile. "I didn't say mine was getting better." But he understands my not-so-subtle-hint and pours me a glass anyway. "How are the lessons going?"

"Good."

"Just good?" he asks coyly.

"Yes. Good."

"Hmm." He seems unsatisfied with my answer.

He should be. For the last week of lessons (which I haven't told Gault about), Torian and I have been sparring. A couple of times we fought with our fists. It was a lesson, but also a game. Torian wanted to teach me words relating to battle and felt that the best way to do it was through sparring.

Mako joined us for these lessons. She loves a good bout, but I think she enjoyed seeing a bare-chested Torian even more. On more than one occasion, the applause for me felt a little too polite.

I change the subject. "Aren't you meeting some dupe today?"

Gault's eyes light up. "Two, in fact." He glances at the time. "I'd better go."

"I'd go with you, but I'm - "

" - busy. Yeah, yeah. I know." He winks at me. "Enjoy yourself."

"Good hunting!" I call after him.

Torian enters soon after Gault leaves. Mako follows. He's carrying his technostaff and a large staff he's picked up from somewhere, my weapon of choice for the last week. It's heavy and clunky. I hate it. I'm not a close-range fighter - not with a staff, anyway.

I'd much rather use my fists.

He tosses me the staff. Mako finds a seat.

I'm not exactly sure what the object of the game is now.

The first day, Torian would say something in Mando'a and then replicate with an attack. I'd dodge or parry. That was easy.

The next day, he'd say a word and then follow through with a different attack. He caught me a few times with his staff. By the time I figured it out, I was so confused and disoriented that my guard was non-existent. He beat me soundly.

The third day, I was prepared.

I didn't listen to his words.

I watched his body.

I won.

So on and so on.

Today we are tied: three-to-three.

My staff is in position. I wait for the signal. Torian leans casually on his weapon. His blue eyes are playful. My arms are getting tired from extending my weapon. I wonder why he hasn't started the match yet.

"Let's make this interesting," he says to me in Mando'a.

I lower my staff, suspicious of a trick. "How so?"

"If I win, I'll buy you a drink."

Now I'm confused. "At the Star Bar?"

He frowns slightly. I don't think he cares for Gault much. "Somewhere else. Off ship. Tonight."

I purse my lips. "If I win?"

"You won't. My honor's at stake."

He's only half-teasing. Maybe. Mandalorians live, eat, and breathe honor. It's more important to them than just spilling blood. I glance at Mako. She's wide-eyed. She doesn't understand, has no idea what Torian and I have just said. Maybe she thinks we're taunting each other. Or talking about her.

 _He thinks he's going to win._

"Stop staring at me," I say suddenly, "and it's a deal." He frowns and a bit of his swagger disappears. I give him my arm. We shake.

Suddenly he shouts, "Oya!" His technostaff clashes against mine. I brace myself to avoid falling. He's not holding back.

We're no longer friends. We're mortal enemies.

He fights for honor. Typical Mando.

I fight to avoid an uncomfortable evening with a love-sick kid.

I'm not sure who is more desperate to win.

Over and over his staff smacks at mine. His blows are relentless and close to my hands. The reverberations from the impacts hurt, but I hang on. He moves forcefully, on the offensive, herding me toward the nearest wall.

I grit my teeth. I'm on the defensive. He's stronger than I am, but he's getting sloppy. He expects an easy victory. Torian raises his technostaff high. It's the opening I need and I jab him in the gut with the staff. The wind is knocked out of him and he steps back.

Slowly, we circle each other. He begins twirling his staff in one hand. I hold mine with both hands horizontally in front of me. Torian's smug grin is gone.

He swings his technostaff at me again, fire in his eyes. I dodge, the upper half of my body bending away from the swing. I manage to block the next hit. Barely.

He taunts me in Mando'a. I taunt him back.

I swing at his side, but he's too quick. I miss. He takes the opportunity to hit my upper arm. It burns. It's going to bruise.

I'm angry. Frustrated. I've had enough. I know my limits. I have no chance to win with this staff. I back away from Torian and throw it toward the wall. The staff clatters to the floor. The sound echoes loudly throughout the room. Mako gasps. I put up my fists.

"Fight me," I say in Mando'a.

Torian pauses, surprised.

"Fight me," I insist.

A moment later, he tosses his technostaff aside. He sinks into a fighting stance. His fists are balled at his face. I smile inwardly.

I fake a right jab. Torian moves to the left. I quickly punch him in the chest with my left. Not too hard, but he wasn't expecting it. He backs up, re-evaluating his options. He comes at me with a quick uppercut. I dodge and swerve around him. I hit him twice on his lower back, push him away, then retreat a few steps. He turns and glares at me. He's not used to a dirty fighter.

I'm out of practice from years of taking my bounties with blasters. I remember a few tricks, but I'm nowhere near as good as I once was in the pits of Nar Shaddaa.

My hands are still up. Ready. His are up, but low. He's doubtful. Or calculating. Or suspicious.

He lifts his fists and approaches. We dance in a small circle together. He moves first, a hook to my left side. I take it, allowing him to get close. Then I punch him square in the face and bring my knee up to make contact with his belly. Torian grunts.

From somewhere by the wall, Mako gasps again.

I had forgotten she was here.

I'm feeling pretty good about myself now. I lower my hands slightly. Torian brings his clear eyes to mine. For a split second, I see amusement. Then rage.

He leaps at me, knocking me over. I land roughly on my back. He's on top of me, his hands on my wrists. He looks pleased. Then I whisper something and he leans in because he can't hear. My forehead makes contact with his nose. His hands fly to his face. I push him off of me. I take another jab at him as I rise.

Torian scrambles up and dodges my next punch. He comes at me. I meet him, ready.

We're scrapping like children. We throw punches. Sometimes I miss. Sometimes he hits. Our fists become more forceful. We try to hurt each other. In the scuffle, I even bite his arm.

It's exhilarating.

I missed this.

I am swept up in a feeling of euphoria. Now I become the sloppy one.

He punches me in the stomach. Hard. I bowl over. Then he hits me in the back. His leg sweeps my feet out from under me. My body slams to the floor.

Torian is on top of me again. He puts a hand firmly on my right cheek, pressing the left side of my face into the metal floor. His other arm grabs my left arm and brings to my back. I feel his knee pressing against my spine. I squirm, fighting to topple him with my free arm. He doesn't give.

I'm losing feeling in my arm and face. I'm humiliated. But I don't want to give.

The pain becomes unbearable. I slap my right palm on the floor. "I yield," I say in Mando'a.

Torian's off me before I can say "jet pack". He even helps me up.


	4. Chapter 4

I isolate myself in my quarters.

Mako comes in after a while. She's carrying some kolto salve which she spreads on my bruises. She's talking the whole time, but I'm only half-listening. My head is fuzzy. _You two looked like you were trying to kill each other,_ she says. _What's going on?_

I shrug. I hurt too much to explain now. I think I pass out.

When I wake up, Gault's face is a foot from mine. "You look terrible, Champ. Mako find out about your little crush?" he asks mockingly.

"Go away," I groan. I turn to face the wall.

Gault pouts. "You aren't going to ask me how it went?"

"Get lost, Gault."

Something lands on the bed with a soft _thump_. "Your cut," he says simply. "We'll talk when you're in a better mood."

Once he leaves, I roll over and stare at the ceiling.

The kolto's working. My body doesn't hurt as much. There's still a little pain in my left arm and my jaw is sore. But my pride smarts.

To his credit, I finally really believe Gault. It seems Torian has a thing for me. He wanted to win.

 _Love-sick gizka pup. He's barely old enough to hold a pint,_ I muse.

Gault claims I'm interested in him, too.

 _Laughable._

I reach for the credit chip on my cot and turn it over and over across my bruised knuckles.

 _He might have known the Grand Champion's next move would be to Taris, to his father. He's had ample opportunity to find him and kill him before I showed up. Why didn't he? Did he like me, even back then?_

Torian and I don't talk much, especially about his father. Life's tough when the only thing you have is your father's disgrace. It follows him everywhere he goes because the other Mandalorians won't let him forget it.

 _Touchy bastards,_ I think.

I tuck my hands under my head, the credit chip still secure between two fingers.

Although I'm not all that excited about tonight, a promise is a promise. I owe Torian my company and I'll buy him a couple drinks with my cut of Gault's earnings.


	5. Chapter 5

We've been sitting at the bar for an hour.

Besides the small talk on the way to the bar, neither one of us have found much to say. In Basic or Mando'a.

I never really talk to Torian aboard the _Mantis_ , mostly because I talk to Gault. He and I know about surviving in the galactic underworld. We don't have to explain things to each other. Plus, Gault is always out for the next best thing. I can expect what comes out of his mouth.

I don't know that much about Mandos, so I always feel like I get a lecture whenever I talk to Torian. Feeling dumb gets old after a while.

I glance around the cantina. It's packed tonight. Gault suggested this place, saying the drinks were good, strong, and cheap. He's right, but the rest of the place could use an overhaul. Even the Star Bar is more welcoming than this dump.

"Another?" I ask Torian in Mando'a. Then I scoop up his glass and carry it to the bar before he can answer.

 _You won the championship. You took down Jicoln Cadera. You can talk to this kid._

I slide the glasses to the bartender. He takes his time filling them up. I slide the credit chip across the bar and tap my fingers to the music while I wait.

A big, ugly guy with a tattooed face stands next to me with a big, stupid grin on his meathead face. Five or six of his buddies sit at a nearby table, jeering. They're watching him. And me.

"Hey, beautiful," he says. I ignore him.

The bartender takes the credit chip. I would have just left it with him if it didn't have enough credits on it to buy a small ship.

Meathead doesn't seem to get it. He looms over me and says: "Noticed you're stuck with that pipsqueak over there. How about joining me for a drink?"

The bartender returns my credit chip.

"No, way." Even silent company is better than this jerk. I pick up the cups and turn to leave.

Meathead grabs my arm. The liquor sloshes out of the cup in my hand.

"Let go," I growl, but he just tightens his grip.

I'm about to punch him in the face. Or stomp on his foot. Or kick him in the groin - anything to get this guy to back off when Torian steps between us.

"Ah!" Meathead laughs, "her tiny protector is here!" His guys at the table laugh.

Torian gives him a funny half-smile before saying, "She doesn't _need_ a protector."

It's like we read each other's mind. I drop the drinks. Torian ducks. My fist finds Meathead's nose. His guys stand up. Everyone else joins in.

The cantina becomes a sudden madhouse. Patrons begin throwing punches. And throwing chairs. And knocking over tables. Even the Twi'lek dancers kick someone to the floor before retreating behind the bar.

Meathead roars and throws himself at me. He punches the air wildly. He's easily twice my size, but no different from all the other meatheads I used to fight. I hold my fists up and dodge his attacks. My eyes watch for flying objects and other people.

I throw an uppercut at the underside of his jaw. A cut on my hand opens. My fist stings. Meathead crashes into the bar. He's sloppy drunk. If I'm lucky, he'll stay down. I glance at Torian.

Torian's successfully fending off Meathead's guys. He punches one, trips another. Then he dodges a swing, throws one man into another. Then he slams a man into the bar, punches another in the gut. It's like full-motion poetry. I can't stop staring.

Our eyes meet. He smiles playfully. His blue eyes sparkle like they do at Mando'a lessons. Or at our daily sparring sessions.

Then I know. I know I like Torian.

It isn't because of his blue eyes or shy smile or muscular body.

It's because he's got my back. I can trust him to hold his own in a fight. And back me up when I need it.

Meathead pulls himself up and yells something indistinguishable at me. He wipes the blood from his nose. He takes another swing at me. I punch him in the nose again. The cartilage and bone crunch beneath my knuckles. Meathead falls to the floor, out cold.

The bartender peeks out from behind the counter. I hand him the rest of Gault's credit chip.

"Sorry about the mess," I say. The rest of the patrons are still smashing everything in sight. He's going to need it more than me.

I hear patrol sirens screaming outside. Torian's suddenly at my side. We leave the cantina. It's pouring rain. We laugh together as we walk back to the ship.

 _Gault's going to enjoy this,_ I think.

We round the corner to the spaceport. "Some drink, huh?" Torian asks in Mando'a.

"Yeah," I agree. "Some drink."

Torian stops me outside the spaceport door. We're dry under the awning. The water drips from his hair. His gaze is nervous. "Want to do it again?"

I push him roughly against the wall and press my body into his. Then I kiss his lips. They're warm and soft and wet from the rain. He cups my head with his hand and pulls me closer.

I release him. "What do you think?" I ask in a low whisper.

He shrugs and smiles. "Got your six."


End file.
